


The Open Door

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Mindfuck, PWP, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-22
Updated: 2009-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam goes out late at night, needing to find out whether or not 1973 is real. Set immediately after 1.01.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Open Door

  
Sam walked as quickly as he could, measuring out Manchester in strides that ticked off the stretches of street in the _click-clack-click-clack_ of Cuban heels that couldn’t possibly be his own. The shoe leather and synthetic soles bent as naturally to his foot as though he’d worn them his entire life; the pain in his heels and calves told a different story.

Between the boots and his own body, Sam didn’t know which was the truth anymore. Nothing in his own self could confirm whether 1973 was a waking dream or some horrible reality, but the half-formed theory he had sought to disprove before Annie and a fondly remembered record shop got in the way still held a vast, intangible promise. Surely his memory of Manchester could only go so far; surely there would be an end, an escape, if only he had time and space enough to walk there.

Illusory though it might (or might not) be, Sam did have a day job in this place and no amount of disbelief could convince him to skive off work, which was why he had set out at night – the case closed, Dora and Maya safe – in search of… his plan turned disturbingly nebulous there. Annie had been right, he really had no bloody clue what he expected to find.

So for now, Sam walked, reeling still from the precarious uncertainty of the rooftop, senses sharpened to the city around him. The night hummed with the orange glow of streetlamps, little spills of other colours splashing the damp pavements from the occasional restaurant and pub remaining open at this late hour. The rain was gone but the air held its chill and its scent, something fresh layered over the seeping, sour stench of rubbish bins. Something especially pungent wafted out from some abandoned cardboard boxes in the next alley and Sam clenched his teeth, nearly gagging on the reality of it all.

He had quickly found that closed doors and drawn curtains plucked especially hard at his paranoia. Each barred entry seemed so deliberate, like plasters stuck over gaps in the world to keep him from the truth. He tested each one, snarling at the doors that wouldn’t open, heaving a sigh of both disappointment and relief at the ones that revealed something utterly banal. This made for slow going but he eventually reached the next intersection, and hesitated. The High Street was another block ahead, but Manchester stretched to either side as well; one road was just as likely as any other to reveal… something. Frustrated, he glanced around and noticed the darkened structure of the public toilets at the opposite corner.

His feet carried him there with a will of their own, _click-clack-click-clack_ down slippery concrete steps and through yet another taunting doorway. He would decide where to turn next just as soon as he had found out whether or not there was a big cliff or bright white light waiting for him in the men’s toilets, just as soon as…

Sam stumbled to a halt, breath gone. The rush of blood pounding fierce in his veins drowned all sound and made every inch of flesh throb and burn beneath his clothing.

There was no big cliff, but the wild sense of vertigo in his gut came pretty close.

He wasn’t alone in the dank public lav. Two men clung to the tiles and each other, mouths and hands and hips moving together in the half-light of a single faulty fluorescent tube. The flickering bulb revealed glimpses of bared flesh: a shirt rucked up a broad back, pale thighs above the bunching of lowered trousers. Sam noted the large hand sliding in between those thighs, up into the shadowed curve of the other man’s arse, and sucked in an involuntary, shaky breath. He hadn’t felt so winded, so unexpectedly _alive_ since Gene Hunt had kidney punched him yesterday, and that just wasn’t fair because remembering Hunt’s fingers clenching his shoulders, Hunt’s breath on his ear was _not_ helping to repress the shock of his arousal in the slightest.

The fingers working at that arse slowed, and stopped, and Sam flinched on realizing that two shadowed faces were now turned to face him, unreadable in the poor light. Sam opened his mouth, reaching for an apology, and was horrified to find his voice gone. Words for this sort of thing just didn’t seem to exist anyway.

One of the men – the broad-backed man with the large hands – turned away after a moment, bowed his head to the ear of the other and murmured something that Sam couldn’t discern over the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears. The other man nodded, tugging his lowered trousers up to his hips, and Sam felt the familiar rush of relief and disappointment that had marked his journey up until this point, the one that left him every bit as empty and lost as before. The men were leaving, and Sam thought it wise to step aside to let them pass, but his legs refused to obey, remained frozen with indecision. Distantly, as though in a dream, he watched the second man – lean, sharp, curly-haired – move ever closer, wondered why the taller, broader man wasn’t following his companion out the door.

Up close, Sam caught the impression of mischievous eyes sparking in a too-young face before his slack lips were captured in a slow, questioning kiss. Hands stroked his arms, kneaded harder when Sam didn’t move to escape. A low hum of approval vibrated against Sam’s mouth and he was lost, suspended by disbelief and the lush, surreal burn of a hard body pressing so close. Firm lips pushed him open, made way for the slick sweep of tongue sliding inside and Sam knew this couldn’t be real because he shouldn’t be able to recognize that secret, musky taste in this man’s mouth for what it was, something Sam had only ever imagined but couldn’t resist seeking out in richer detail, his own tongue delving deeper in return.

The hands on his arms moved to his shoulders, guided him to turn further into the room and Sam reached blindly, clinging to narrow hips for guidance. His smooth-worn boot heels slipped slightly on the damp tile floor and the man gripped him tighter, arms closing around his back and pulling their bodies flush together. Sam could sense the formidable presence of the other man closing in behind him, conspiring with the slender body of his partner to keep Sam trapped firmly between them; breath and lips brushed over the back of his neck and Sam gasped softly into his kiss, any notion of escape rapidly vanishing.

Neither man spoke, but both moved as though by a mutually understood plan; the slender man withdrew his arms from around Sam’s body and stroked both hands beneath his open jacket, pushing Sam backward into the other man’s fervent hands. Their kiss broken, Sam stared dazedly into the man’s pale, smirking face – so much more a boy than a man, but the thought died with the rasp of stubble scraping alongside his throat, the hint of teeth in the open-mouthed kisses of the man pressed tight behind him. Instinctively, Sam let his head roll back, baring his throat to this stranger and closing his eyes, the better to heighten the honey-sharp, illicit twist of danger thrumming beneath his helpless arousal. A shudder slipped down his spine, and Sam writhed wantonly between the two men, tugging narrow hips closer to grind an eager, throbbing hardness against his own, moved by his own lust and the force of two pairs of hands rapidly indulging in his body.

The boyish one was first to work his way past clothing to flesh, fingertips slipping beneath his untucked shirt and vest to stroke tantalizingly over his stomach before descending to Sam’s belt and lower. Heavier, rougher hands clawed at his shirt buttons, tugging aside leather and polyester as that greedy mouth licked and bit down to his shoulder. A deep, growling sort of breath sounded close to Sam’s ear and he bit his own lip to hold back a needy, answering whimper, his fingers tightening their hold on the boy’s hips.

A whisper of damp, cool air told Sam that his trousers and pants had been pushed down around his thighs, but the realization was distant compared to the deft fingers curling around his cock, the firm hand closing over his bared arse. Thick fingers traced the crevice down between his buttocks, found the tight flesh of his opening with alarming accuracy; Sam’s eyes flew open in shock.

 _Wait,_ he gasped, _I-_

The man behind him clapped his other hand over Sam’s mouth before he could finish. _Shhh…_ His lips caressed Sam’s ear, and Sam couldn’t hold back a muffled moan in spite of – or perhaps, because of – his sudden panic. His heart pounded like a rabid creature in his chest trying to break loose, climbing up his throat until he swore he would suffocate from the size of his lust. Sam closed his eyes again, seeking some measure of control, but then the boy’s hand stroked firmly along the full length of his cock and Sam bucked hard between the two men, a harsh cry echoing in his trapped mouth.

A soft, low chuckle hummed against Sam’s throat, and the hand playing with his arse drifted away, reached around his body to touch the boy before them, a steady hand skimming down to where Sam’s hand clung bruisingly to his hip. At the touch, the boy dropped smoothly to his knees.

Wet heat enveloped his cock and Sam’s hips bucked forward again, but the other man’s arm wrapped around his chest prevented any further movement. Experimentally, he thrashed against that strong, restraining arm and groaned into the hand over his mouth when he was squeezed tighter still, arms pinned to his sides, body flush against the man behind him. The threat, the illusion of being forced was strangely liberating, made him ease into his captor’s hold, made his cock throb and twitch against the boy’s tongue. Lips closed tight around him, sliding and sucking with long, languorous movements of the boy’s tousled head and Sam moaned again, his head dropping back on the man’s broad shoulder.

 _Good boy…_ The voice in his ear was deep, rough with lust. His hand slid away from covering Sam’s mouth until only hard fingertips remained, pressing at his lips and pushing forcefully inside. The taste of nicotine and sweat invaded Sam’s mouth, a harsh saltiness that perversely drew Sam’s greedy tongue to lap lewdly into the space between two fingers, suckling at flesh in search of another layer of coarse masculinity – alcohol, perhaps, or the memory of leather driving gloves. He drank in what he could, what he could imagine, riding the movements of the boy’s mouth working over him, the man’s erection grinding into his arse.

Wet fingers withdrew from his mouth, dropped down between his buttocks, circled over his hole and this time Sam didn’t protest apart from a faint, stifled whimper. _Beg for this._

Sam shuddered, bit his tongue. His head tossed to the side, his nose catching a waft of stale, sweat-cut aftershave, so much like…

 _Beg for this._ A single finger pressed against him, heavy with intent but lingering, waiting. _I know you want this, so say it…_

He set loose his tongue, said the word. The world dropped from beneath his feet…

And his knees hit the tile floor, so hard and puddled with damp but Sam shunted the discomfort aside, warmed by the lithe body nestled at his back, burning from the thick cock stretching his lips, burning from the slender yet thickly coated fingers stretching him from behind. Everything burned, despite the cold slick of whatever lube the boy had retrieved from who knows where, sliding deep inside…

…sliding so effortlessly into the boy bent over the rust-stained sink, his arse proffered to Sam like a prize. He bit back a groan, watched himself disappear inside wet and easy heat, realized with a jolt of arousal that the boy had already been prepared for this, his arse fingered and stretched by the other man, the other man–

The other man entered him, and Sam hissed a sharp, pained breath because the cock penetrating him was breaking him open as though he had never taken anything like this before. Maybe it always went differently with a real cock instead of those safe, sanitized toys (and it felt so real, engorged with blood and throbbing inside him like silicone or a coma fantasy never would). Perhaps this body of his had no memory of those furtive experiments; perhaps he had arrived in 1973 newly made, a virgin. A sob threatened to erupt up his throat, then the boy squeezed his arse around Sam’s cock and he thrust again, impaled himself in the same movement, unable to stop…

…unable to anchor himself, and his arm scrambled upward, catching the man behind him by the shoulder, by the back of his neck. The ends of his hair tickled Sam’s hand, gentle counterpoint to the fingers clawing at his nipples beneath his shirt. Sam stared into the spotted mirror over the sink, tried to picture what Hunt would look like if he let his hair grow out just a bit longer, more like this, long enough to hold onto, before he flinched from the impossible thought, eyes clamping shut again –

And he’s coming, hard helpless spasms constricted by the tightness of the boy’s arse before heavy hands haul him away, squeeze around his cock and savagely draw out the last, white-hot ribbons of his orgasm all over the boy’s smooth skin. Sam’s fingers slip in the mess he’s made, and the boy purrs, pushes back –

Pushing him back, stumbling together into the stall with the unhinged door.

Pushing him down, down into the waiting man’s lap, onto the man’s waiting cock.

Pushing forward, panting hard, thrusting shallowly between Sam’s spit-slick lips. The boy’s hands at the back of his head directed his movements, only half as forceful as the man’s hands on his hips making his body rise and fall, bouncing loud and obscene over his cock. Disoriented, drained by his recent orgasm, Sam gave way, gave himself over to the two men using his body as their plaything, seemingly racing each other towards release –

Release, and the floor, hit him like a speeding car.

Time slowed once more, back to a pace Sam could recognize in his shaken state, reduced to a panting heap on the wet floor, head weakly propped against the stall’s partition wall. He was distantly aware of the uneven sputtering of water from one of the rusted taps, the low murmur of sparse conversation. He blinked upward to see the younger man shrug on a denim jacket and ruffle his fingers through his hair. The other handed him several folded notes, patted his arse as he passed to leave, and Sam hastily looked away, shame burning hot down the back of his neck as he realized what the boy was.

He staggered to his feet, hands slipping on the stall’s filthy walls, staring hard at the other man as he turned from the sink to face him. The single fluorescent strip caught his longish hair, revealed that it was blond, but his eyes were the wrong colour. Dispassionate and hazel, those narrowed eyes studied him thoughtfully before the man bowed his head, reaching into his back pocket as he strode forward.

With brisk, efficient movements, the man set Sam’s clothing to rights, fastening and tucking with no regard for the soiled skin beneath. His task quickly completed, he slid a hand into Sam’s trouser pocket and tugged him into a lazy, lingering kiss; a final fond brush of fingers down Sam’s neck, and he was gone. Footsteps receded into the street above, and Sam sagged back against the wall, far beyond the point of caring for cleanliness. A shiver coursed down his spine, a single weak spasm.

And the shaking wouldn’t stop, and Sam ducked his head, stuffed his hands into his pockets for warmth, and froze to stillness as his fingers glanced over smooth paper in his pocket. Cautiously, he drew his hand out again.

Two ten pound notes. Twenty quid that he knew he didn’t have before, and his hands started trembling again, mind racing beyond the demeaning gesture in itself.

Money. He hadn’t been paid on the job in this time yet. Unless one counted the fifteen pounds and change he had found in his wallet three days ago, this was the first payment… His stomach roiled with fear, disgust. What if this was the only way…

Angrily, stubbornly, Sam stuffed the notes back into his pocket. The smell of sex was crawling over his skin, down his throat until it nearly choked him – Sam beat a hasty retreat to the open street, back to his flat with a _click-clack-click-clack_ that matched the night far too well.


End file.
